


Mannequin

by Crystalwren



Series: Simulacra [3]
Category: Hellsing
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-09-20
Updated: 2008-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:08:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystalwren/pseuds/Crystalwren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hellsing burns hot, Hellsing burns cold. The only thing that's certain is that where Walter goes, violence is sure to follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mannequin

There were a lot of things that Walter wanted and couldn’t have. Consistent weather and functioning indoor climate control were two of these things.

 

He was standing in front of Sir Integra’s desk, alternately clenching and unclenching his toes in a futile attempt to get some circulation going. He’d even stooped so low as to shrug a jacket on, something he usually loathed because it restricted the movement of his shoulders and upper arms. For Sir Integra’s part, there were several layers of blankets tucked about her thighs as she sat uncomfortably in her wheelchair, her cravat was cashmere instead of silk, there was a mug of hot chocolate sitting neatly on a coaster in front of her and when a particularly icy gust of air came from the stricken air vents she paused to shiver and sneeze discretely into a handkerchief.

 

“What are those imbeciles doing _now?”_ she muttered in reference to the service technicians who were apparently incapable of keeping the inducted climate control system within any sort of spitting distance of functioning.

 

“If you like, marm, I could go talk to them-”

 

“No.”

 

“But surely-”

 

“Not after what happened the last time.”

 

“It was an accident-”

 

“And I’m the Queen of France.” She drummed her fingers on the table and frowned. Finally she said, “We got this today,” and tossed a slim manila folder across the desk for Walter to read.

 

It was a slim report from a Swiss agent that technically worked for Sir Irons but was not adverse to occasional side work for Sir Hellsing. The phrase “Biologically Interfacing AI Microchip Technology” caught his eye. Freak chip. He looked up at Integra.

 

“It could be a form of freak chip,” she said, “But information suggests that these chips directly interface with and possibly control the living, human brain. If you look at the schematics,” Walter obediently flipped through the folder again, “You’ll see that as scanty as our information is there are striking similarities between this chip and the freak chip. Undoubtedly the same creators worked on both at some point but it’s impossible to tell if they’re being produced by the same manufacturer.” She took a sip from her mug and waited for Walter to digest all this. He read and reread the papers and finally shut the folder, setting it back on the table.

 

“There’s a lot of information missing out of this,” he said, “For example, how do these chips interface with the brain? Are they receivers transmitting instructions from a third party, or are the some form of information storage?”

 

“Precisely,” said Integra, and sneezed. She blew her nose and tucked the hankie back into her sleeve. With reddened nose, blurry eyes, blankets on her lap and marshmallows in her hot chocolate she looked vulnerable and depressingly human. Decidedly unsexy, Walter mused to himself, but strangely approachable. He wondered how long he’d live if he went in for a cuddle. “The schematics aren’t complete either; there’s just enough detail to make them convincing but not enough to know how the damn things work.” She sipped again from her mug and added, “The seller is offering them to the highest bidder. We are going to be one of those bidders. Anonymously, of course.”

 

“Who will be our agent? We usually leave these sorts of operations to Sir Irons.”

 

“You will, Walter,” Integra smiled sweetly. “There’s no one I trust more than you.”

 

There was a long silence. Walter clenched and unclenched his toes, reflecting on Integra’s uncanny ability to know exactly what he was thinking, and just how much of a poisonous bitch she could be if he was thinking inappropriate thoughts.

 

She continued. “You will be using the persona we set up when we were having so much trouble sourcing ammunition legally. You’re already a known buyer on the black market so there’s no point constructing another persona.”

 

“Do any of the other members of the Round Table know what we’re doing?”

 

“I haven’t told them,” Integra confessed, looking slightly uneasy. “As far as I’m aware they don’t know about this particular chip at all. But if one or more have their own agents working on this, I’m counting on you and your bodyguard being recognisable enough that you won’t be in an immediate danger.”

 

 “Bodyguard?” Walter’s mouth twitched. If anything, he would be the one protecting said bodyguard, but it was part of his persona after all. “Who?”

 

Integra narrowed her eyes and folded her hands into a steeple. “Seras Victoria.”

 

Another long silence. Finally, Walter said, “Are you serious?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“May I ask why?”

 

“Because you two will be on your own. There won’t be anyone backing you up. If there are only two agents in the field, then they must be the strongest ones, the ones who are most able to rescue themselves if something should go wrong.”

 

“I wasn’t aware Ms Victoria had done any covert work.”

 

“She used to be a police officer. At the very least she knows how to take orders and keep quiet and keep watch. Do you have any strong objections?”

 

Walter, to his credit, thought hard. There were moral objections and in addition a huge amount of jealousy that he would never actually admit to having, but his professionalism took over and he grudgingly said, “No, Sir Integra.”

 

“Good. Start getting ready. You’ll be leaving in forty two hours.”And then, after he’d bowed and turned away he heard her voice calling him back. “Walter...”

 

He stopped, looked back over his shoulder. “Yes, Sir Integra?”

 

A long, hard stare, those blue eyes he loved as warm and merciful as pack ice drifting into a major shipping lane. “If anything untoward should happen to Ms Victoria, I shall be most vexed. Understand?”

 

He nodded once in acknowledgement. “Understood,” he said curtly, and shut the door behind him. A shrill beeping from his watch told him that it was feeding time for the freak show and he sighed.

 

**

 

It was freezing, literally, tiny ice crystals shattering under his fingertips when he touched the walls. He cursed that he hadn’t thought to get an overcoat, but he was here now and Alucard would never let him leave without delivering.

 

Walter rounded the corner, the packets of donor blood in a discreet carry bag, and stepped into Alucard’s basement domain.

 

“You have got to be shitting me,” he spat, forgetting himself.

 

Hawaii.

 

It was Hawaii. Alucard was sitting in a deckchair driven into the sand, waves lapping gently at the beach, sun shining, palm fronds swaying gently in the breeze. The vampire was grinning from ear to ear as a hula dancer wearing a grass skirt and a smile sashayed up to Walter, dropping a lei around his neck with a soft _‘Aloha’_ and sashayed off again. The illusion was picture perfect, lifted straight from a postcard with two glaring inconsistencies. Number one was that Alucard was dressed in his customary overcoat, suit, boots and hat despite the beach setting. Number two was that Walter was still freezing his balls off.

 

“Here,” snapped the old man, tossing the carry bag in Alucard’s direction. “What are you doing, for the love of God?”

 

“I thought you might like it,” replied the vampire, rummaging through the bag. “I thought you might like it with it being so cold and all. Warm thoughts, etcetera. Ah, B+, my favourite. Walter, you’re such a considerate boy.”

 

Walter shuddered as a particularly icy draft slid down the back of his shirt. “You are insane.”

 

“Oh yes,” agreed Alucard, “Quite.” He bit into the bag with an obscene slurp as the hula girl offered Walter a cocktail glass. A Bloody Mary by the looks of it, which had not been made by mixing a metaphor. He waved her away irritably.

 

“I have to ask, are you behind the malfunctioning air conditioning?”

 

“Walter, Walter. What a thing to say.”

 

“Just answer the damned question, Alucard.”

 

“No, as it happens. Arthur bought a substandard system to begin with and Integra is too cheap to have the decrepit thing ripped out and a new one installed.”

 

“We’re worried about spy devices,” Walter muttered, “We’d have to bring outsiders in to install a new system.”

 

“Ah. Have a seat.” A second deckchair materialised by his side.

 

“Thank you, but I am busy-”

 

A hint of steel in the deep voice. “I insist.” Walter reluctantly sat. “It seems so long since we last spoke properly. It pains me to see our friendship so strained. You haven’t even shown me your new necklace.”

 

Walter hadn’t shown anyone his new necklace. He grudgingly pulled the chain out from under his shirt, unclasped it and tossed it at Alucard. It was small rose gold medallion, Saint George on his horse, slaying the dragon. The tip of the lance was picked out with a tiny fleck of ivory.

 

“How pretty. I take it this white bit here is the piece of Carmila’s tooth that the good Doctor Trevallyn dug out of Integra’s neck?”

 

“Yes,” said Walter through his teeth.

 

“Very sentimental of you,” the vampire noted, mouthing at the edge until a thin plume of smoke began to rise from his lips. He tossed the medallion back to Walter, who caught it one handed and put it straight back on. “The workmanship is excellent, even if the subject is hackneyed, and you’ve obviously had the wits to have it blessed. The question arises as to the significance; you’ve never been a one for Catholic Saints before.”

 

“Alucard. Don’t you know it’s rude to pry?”

 

“Manners have never interested me very much.” He tossed an empty blood packet aside and started on another. “I hear you’re to take the Police Girl on an outing.”

 

“It’s also rude to listen into private conversations.”

 

“So? You and Integra are the only ones who ever visit me. I’m bored.”

 

“Ask for a television.”

 

“She won’t give me one. Says it’ll give me too many ideas.” The hula girl pouted on Alucard’s behalf as the vampire made an obscene noise and did something equally obscene with his tongue and the plastic. There was a _gloop_ and the blood bag simply deflated. He tossed the it aside and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So you and the Police Girl are off on a mission. _Alooooooone.”_ The vampire grinned broadly, and a second hula girl joined the first. Dark hair lightened, became ash blonde and strawberry blonde, skin paled to honey and milk. Integra and Seras, in grass skirts and smiles and Walter slapped his hand over his eyes and wondered what he’d ever done to deserve this.

 

“What are you trying to say, Alucard?”

 

“I worry for the innocence for my protégé,” and the old man made the mistake of looking up. Seras smiled broadly and _jiggled._ There was a lot to jiggle. “She is such a pure girl.”

 

“I’m sure,” replied Walter, his voice thick with irony. “She and Integra, all wrapped up cosy and private together three times a week, being _pure._ A likely story.”

 

“What? Jealous, my dear Reaper?” Seras and Integra shimmered, and then multiplied. They formed themselves into a conga line and began to dance, kicking enthusiastically.

 

“One, two, three, kick! One, two, three, kick!”  The line of Seras’ and Integras began wind themselves in a figure eight around the two deck chairs, with a lot of giggling and jiggling, kicking up the sand. The illusion was good enough to make Walter’s eyes water when some hit his face.

 

“If you have nothing sensible to say,” He said evenly, “Then I must be going. There is work to be done.”

 

The Seras’ and Integras all pouted and twittered disapprovingly. Alucard’s grin only got broader. “You’re no fun.”

 

Walter got up and stormed off as politely as he could. The illusion shimmered and vanished as he rounded the corner, but Alucard’s voice followed him. “She’ll be of use to you, don’t doubt that.”

 

Walter didn’t bother to reply.

 

**

 

She was waiting for him at the weapons range, that little skirt of hers riding up her thighs and it occurred to him that Seras Victoria was walking soft porn, a living doll of Barbie proportions. Her uniform made so much more sense now he knew where Integra’s inclinations lay. Walter sighed and rearranged his facial features to something pleasant. “May I help you, Miss Victoria?”

 

“Oh!” she squeaked, “I wondered if I might talk to you about the mission.”

 

Walter smiled thinly and produced a tiny key from a vest pocket. He unlocked a massively constructed cabinet and said, “Miss Victoria, while you are here, if you would be so kind as to help me with this?”

 

She blinked at him, those wide eyes and fangs peeking out from under her lip reminding him as always of a constipated kitten. “That looks like one of Master’s guns.”

 

“Prototype. I usually use an automated mount to test them, but since you’re here, my dear Miss Victoria...”

 

Her narrow shoulders slumped and she held out her hand for the weapon. “’Hyena 42 F,’” she muttered, running her gloved fingers over the engraving.

 

“All of Alucard’s prototype weapons are called ‘Hyena’. If they’re successful, they’re renamed.”

 

“Hyena,” Seras muttered again, turning the gun over in her hands. “It’s strangely appropriate. So there have been forty two weapons made for Master?”

 

“Rather more than that,” Walter tapped at the cursive ‘F’. “The letter refers to how many trial models are made of a particular design. The number refers to how many different designs have been trialled to reach this point. Not many work. No matter how well they’re planned,” He produced a handful of ammunition and offered it to her, “The combination of the stresses of a barrel this long and the special ammunition we much use is often difficult to calculate. Many of these end up exploding when they’re test fired.”

 

Seras’ eyes widened, then narrowed. “So you’re planning to use me as your experimental test subject?”

 

“This is model F,” Walter pointed out with a charming smile, “Most of them don’t reach this far if there are fundamental flaws in design. The chances of this one exploding are very low.”

 

She gave him a long, level look. He felt his spine prickle at those unnatural red eyes and he realised that he was flexing his hands to feel his rings. He quickly crossed his wrists behind his back and gave her his most harmless old man look.

 

“Did you make this, Walter? Design it?”

 

“I design most of the specialised weapons Hellsing uses. I only make particular ones, though.”

 

“You know,” she murmured, “Some people build model airplanes or little ships in bottles.”

 

“I like guns,” said Walter flatly.

 

Seras hefted the Hyena, and she met his eyes again. It took him several heartbeats to realise that she was trying to stare him down. The gun looked obscenely huge in her little hands and she seemed to realise that too.

 

“Walter, I can’t help but wonder...” she trailed off, blinked uncomfortably, and then tried again: “I can’t help but wonder if there’s something, well, _Freudian_ going on here.”

 

There was a deafening silence. Walter swum in the warm waters of mingled horror, embarrassment, and sheer blinding rage. He was so astonished it simply didn’t occur to him to reply. She gently pushed the Hyena back into his hands.

 

“Walter, I wanted to talk to you, to see if we could come to some sort of understanding. I know you don’t...don’t approve of Sir Integra and I, but I hoped we could at least learn to accept each other as teammates. I now know that I, personally, cannot do it. I don’t think I could ever trust a teammate who knowingly hands me a damaged, dangerous weapon.”

 

The vampire turned and stalked off, hips swinging in that little skirt of hers. Walter watched her go, and looked down at the Hyena. The light glinting off the barrel made the stress fractures in the metal glitter in a way that was almost pretty.


End file.
